


Caïssa's song

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Arson, Dark Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Love at First Sight, M/M, Marriage, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Safe Sane and Consensual, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Sub Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 09:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: Aziraphale, all softness, a cotton cake incarnate, bright blue eyes, light coloured clothes, careful steps, walked around Crowley and right into the man's personal space."Kindly. Fuck. Off." He repeated. "Otherwise I doubt anyone would ever find you. Dear." He smiled again. Crowley behind him shivered.The offending man couldn't utter a sound. Somehow this lovely man was the scariest person he had ever seen.The bartender chuckled and served Aziraphale his favourite drink."We don't want any trouble, Mr Fell, do we?" They said."We absolutely don't." Aziraphale took a sip, his eyes trained on the man."Take me home, angel," Crowley begged."Just a moment, darling, let me finish my drink."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 105
Kudos: 206





	1. Basque chess

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dark Angels, Golden Serpents](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919025) by [KiaraMGrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraMGrey/pseuds/KiaraMGrey). 



> Caïssa is the muse of chess. Each chapter is named after a certain term in the glossary of chess.

"I believe I asked you to stay at home."

"I believe I told you that I miss you and you're barely home."

"So what, you're fixing yourself a quick fuck?"

"Fuck you, angel." Crowley downed his scotch. 

"We're going home, Crowley."

"No, we're not. What will I do there?"

"The arrangement…"

"Fuck you, fuck the arrangement."

"You're hurting."

"Very well spotted."

"I'm taking you home. You will not make a scene. Have I made myself clear?"

Someone on the other side of Crowley tried offering him a drink and help with Aziraphale.

"Kindly fuck off," said Aziraphale with a beaming smile.

"Get off him!" Persisted someone. Crowley looked rather bitterly amused.

Aziraphale, all softness, a cotton cake incarnate, bright blue eyes, light coloured clothes, careful steps, walked around Crowley and right into the man's personal space.

"Kindly. Fuck. Off." He repeated. "Otherwise I doubt anyone would ever find you. Dear." He smiled again. Crowley behind him shivered.

The offending man couldn't utter a sound. Somehow this lovely man was the scariest person he had ever seen.

The bartender chuckled and served Aziraphale his favourite drink.

"We don't want any trouble, Mr Fell, do we?" They said.

"We absolutely don't." Aziraphale took a sip, his eyes trained on the man.

"Take me home, angel," Crowley begged.

"Just a moment, darling, let me finish my drink." He finally turned to his husband. Crowley offered his hand, placing it on the counter.

Aziraphale's gaze softened. He took the hand and placed it on his thigh. A questioning look. A sigh.

"Yes, please. I missed you." Crowley whispered.

"What a treasure you are, my love." Aziraphale squeezed his hand, hard, painful. Crowley hissed and put his head on Aziraphale's shoulder.

"More, please," Crowley asked tenderly. Another sip, a nod, a look of melting tenderness on Aziraphale's face. His well manicured fingers squeezed harder.

Crowley kissed Aziraphale's ear. "Take me home, when you finish your drink."

"Of course. I might want another, though."

"You bastard," Crowley whispered gently.

"I've been told so, my love."

"Who dared tell you such a thing?" Crowley asked in mock disbelief.

"The love of my life, my dear abandoned husband." Aziraphale replied evenly.

"He must have been a right bastard himself."

Aziraphale positively crushed Crowley's fingers. Crowley bit his lip.

"Don't bite your lips, love, and don't you dare talk this way about my beloved."

***

Aziraphale danced a cube of ice over Crowley's bruised fingers. 

"It's fine, angel, forg… of course, do whatever you want. I'm yours." Crowley rested his forehead on Aziraphale's thigh. 

"My pants will be wet and soapy. Lift your head."

Crowley obliged. He shifted in the warm heavily scented water.

"You're exquisite, my love… so beautiful, so gentle, so fragile…"

Hearing Aziraphale's words Crowley moaned. Aziraphale chuckled. He put Crowley's hand on the edge of the bath and traced his collarbones with the ice cube.

"I've been neglecting you, dearest, I know. I shouldn't have spent so much time at work, love, I absolutely shouldn't have… will you forgive me?" Aziraphale whispered into Crowley's lips. 

"Yessssss."

Aziraphale bit Crowley's lip and licked at it to smoothen the bite. "Open your mouth."

Crowley did as he was told.

Aziraphale leaned in even closer pushing his tongue into Crowley's mouth, sucking on his tongue.

"I think this requires bedroom, doesn't it?" Aziraphale suggested after a few minutes.

Crowley readily stood up, inadvertently splashing Aziraphale.

"That won't do, my darling, that won't do."

Aziraphale used Crowley's towel to dry his face and held it out so that Crowley could step out of the bath. Once he did, Aziraphale wrapped him in the towel and carried him to the bed. There he wiped him dry, massaged him with the grape seed oil, praising him all the way.

"How can I atone for my misdeeds, sweet darling?" Aziraphale asked, offering his oiled fingers to Crowley for cleaning.

"My clever darling… so good with your tongue… Let me undress. I want you to watch me carefully. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, angel."

"Such a precious thing, you are… so precious to me."

Aziraphale stood up and began undressing himself. He was doing it ever so slowly, relishing the desperate, hungry eyes of his husband. Despite being painfully hard, Crowley didn't even move to touch himself.

Once naked, Aziraphale laid down next to Crowley. "Would you fetch me my book, dearest?"

Crowley nodded and turned over to take the book from the night stand. He offered it to Aziraphale with the look of utmost humility.

"Thank you, love… I think I want to read, but you can take me in your mouth. I will caress your hair, if you let me."

"I will let you, angel. Thank you. You're spoiling me." Crowley smiled wistfully. "Please, don't do it again."

"Please don't leave the house when I asked you not to. I was worried. You didn't answer your phone, you weren't at home… darling, I can't lose you."

"Can't lose you either, angel." 

Crowley scooted down and softly, gingerly took Aziraphale's cock into his mouth.

"You don't have to suck if you don't want to. Just stay there, close to me." He opened his book, as his other hand slid down to play with Crowley's hair.

***

_ Two years ago _

"Could I tempt you into accepting a drink?" Asked a soft-spoken man on Crowley's right. He turned his head to take a look.

"Oh dear… Tempting must be your job."

"Really? This is very smooth…" He gave the man a once over. "You're quite tempting yourself, you know."

"Hardly. I'm not the one thinner than a page of a book and just as pensive."

"No, you're just soft and lovely. How about I buy *you* a drink?"

"We could each buy a drink for the other," suggested the man.

"Crowley. What would you like?"

"Aziraphale. Scotch."

They stumbled into Aziraphale's flat less than an hour later, frantically kissing, losing clothing on the way, desperately trying to catch a breath.

Aziraphale ended up in his favourite armchair with Crowley between his thighs, and afterwards Crowley ended up in Aziraphale's lap, foreheads pressed together, Aziraphale's fingers up his arse and his other hand on Crowley's cock.

"What do you do, my dear?" Aziraphale asked in bed, drawing circles and spirals on Crowley's chest, a cigarette in his fingers.

"I just got myself fired." Crowley took the cigarette from Aziraphale and inhaled. 

Aziraphale watched him as he breathed the cloud of smoke out of his nose and mouth.

"And before that?" He took the cigarette back. 

"Consulting. They are doing some shady work for a very… suspicious firm, let's say. I refused. Got a fat bonus to stay silent and was fired… I didn't like working there, to be honest. I'm not lazy, just… I love staying at home. Now I have a year of just… you know. Yelling at my plants. Being swept off my feet by perfect strangers. You?"

"Consulting. Not that many options, working in the City, are there?" 

They went on passing the cigarette between them.

"Love your hair, my dear," said Aziraphale, quite lost in thought. "Rust…"

"Here to corrupt you," Crowley chucked. Aziraphale leaned over and gave him a very fierce, almost cruel kiss. "You won't speak of yourself like that. Clear?"

Crowley moaned and put his hands on the headboard. He didn't know why, he couldn't explain it to himself, but he offered his very being to a gentle blond man who proved to be not so gentle in the best of ways. But Crowley loved it, loved every minute of that peculiar night, loved each purple bruise he saw in the morning. 

Aziraphale shaved him. Crowley made breakfast. 

He returned in the evening with his things. They hadn't spent a day apart since then.


	2. Desperado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: BDSM, safe, sane and consensual.

_Present day_

Crowley woke up alone. Such mornings and more importantly, such evenings, alone in their bed, were the very reason why he had ended up in that bar the previous night. 

He had met Aziraphale there, they frequented it, when Crowley walked from their penthouse in Landmark Place to the City. It was a short walk and about the only one he could calmly take. Other ventures outside happened only when he was so upset he could no longer care for his fears and just rushed out to face them.

The kitchen was immaculately clean and the living room and the library appeared to be in perfect order too. 

Aziraphale would leave his books and cups of tea everywhere, but lately he had been making an admirable effort to satisfy Crowley's desire for clear surfaces. Crowley chuckled - he was foolish, it had nothing to do with him. Aziraphale just didn't spend much time at home these days.

The hour was late, almost ten, so Aziraphale must have left a while ago.

Crowley let out a sigh and tried smiling at his reflection in the master's bathroom. He shaved, washed his face, walked around the flat for about half an hour. He loved their home, he remembered being giddily happy when they bought it, having sold both their flats. Aziraphale wanted something with a garden and Crowley wanted something very sleek and modern, so Crowley found this place, made sure to bring some of his plants to arrange them on the enormous terrace, despite the vague protestations of the realtor. He was waiting for Aziraphale, sketches he had made clutched in his hand. 

"Such a clever thing, my love," Aziraphale said fondly. 

"Yes, yes, that's me," Crowley replied and showed Aziraphale his plans. They sat on the terrace floor, as Crowley was explaining how he would make sure that the interior would be cozy and rustic, with heavy wooden furniture, and even a fireplace if only Crowley could _persuade_ the appropriate people. Aziraphale beamed. The appropriate people were persuaded most thoroughly, the penthouse was bought. To please Aziraphale Crowley rented them a small town house with an even smaller garden.

"You wily serpent, my sweet darling," Aziraphale praised. "Now I can't wait till we move to our own place." He bit Crowley's neck, suggested they had lunch together, as they did every day, and left for work… 

Crowley shook his head chasing that memory away and concentrating on something more positive instead, which of course proved impossible, because remembering how he had been incessantly working on their new home inevitably brought along the memories of Aziraphale driving him there every morning and refusing to leave Crowley alone… he had to stop.

Crowley turned out to be quite the craftsman. He was a quick study, he loved hard, physical work resulting in tables, chairs, shelves and so forth. He built most of the furniture, sewn their curtains and bed covers, embroidered cushions and forgot to eat or drink or rest. 

After a few times of fainting and spending the rest of the day unconscious on the floor, Aziraphale bit him all over and as long as Crowley could look in the mirror and see the traces of Aziraphale's love he was calm. 

"You put a spell on me," he would whisper when Aziraphale obligingly renewed said spell. 

Carpets and vintage lampshades were delivered and left by the door, per his instructions. He refused any help with installation of air conditioning, washing machine, dishwasher, shower and an antique bath. No one would enter their home apart from Aziraphale and himself. No one but them would touch a thing. 

It took almost a year, and their home was beautiful, and Aziraphale was happy. For a while so was Crowley.

He would demand instructions in the morning, thorough lists of what he had to do and how. Aziraphale wrote those instructions in his calligraphic cursive, inserting declarations of love every now and then. Crowley kept them all in a safe in Aziraphale's home office.

The kitchen had to be redone almost immediately, because Crowley couldn't bear to see fire, and the fireplace remained cold and empty, with a beautiful brass screen in front of it. No candles, no cigarettes (for the best of course, but they had enjoyed sharing one between them sometimes). 

One evening at the Ritz, as they celebrated an evening together (Aziraphale was very particular about celebrating their togetherness, so as far as Crowley understood, every shared meal was a celebration) they were served quails en flambé by mistake. He would have loved the look of fury on Aziraphale's handsome round face, but he passed out. 

Being the most beloved patron of the establishment, Aziraphale saw to it that a Micheline chief was fired on the spot, just because Aziraphale was furious. The waiter lost his job too, but at least it wasn't his head. 

Crowley actually smiled at the memory, or rather Aziraphale's retelling of the occasion.

There was no person in all of London who wouldn't want to oblige Aziraphale. Yes, he was a very rich, very successful businessman, but he also was a generous philanthropist, invested in alternative energy (and had Crowley's Bentley custom remade into an electric car), sponsored various educational programs and had been employing people with disabilities just to spite the rest of the City into doing the same. He was an angel, after all, and when he was angry or just mildly disappointed, the world shook and rearranged itself according to his wishes.

But most of all, right from the start, Aziraphale wanted Crowley to feel loved and protected, safe, and he was happy to comply when he saw, without words or warnings, that Crowley wanted Aziraphale to _put a spell on him._

Crowley praised himself for managing to think of something good -- the first task of the day on every list Aziraphale would leave for him.

"What did you think of, my love?" He'd ask in the evening.

"You." Crowley would reply every day… when he could see Aziraphale which happened less and less. The bites and bruises faded and weren't renewed.

Maybe Aziraphale didn't care anymore…

Crowley ran away from these thoughts to the terrace, where Aziraphale was sitting with a book and untouched breakfast of two perfect apple crumbles.

"Angel? What are you doing here?" Crowley stopped in his tracks. Aziraphale lifted his gaze.

"My love, you look delectable this morning," he purred. "Please, eat with me." He put the book aside. His expression bore no argument, so Crowley sat in front of him. 

Aziraphale pushed Crowley's crumble towards him.

"I'm afraid it's a bit cold. I didn't want the microwave to wake you."

"Could have used the oven." Crowley replied.

"That's it! My clever darling, my lovely boy… Let me warm it." He stood up. "I'll make you coffee too… Our coffee machine is wickedly loud, don't you think? I wouldn't think of disturbing your rest." He walked into the kitchen. Crowley followed him with his eyes, as his personal sun was fussing with the oven and made his espresso.

"There." Aziraphale put the cup in front of Crowley and knelt down between his husband's thighs. "The food will be ready soon…" He informed casually, opening Crowley's robe.

"What… what are you doing here?"

Aziraphale looked up. 

"I live here." He said.

"Bastard," Crowley choked on a sob.

"I've been told…" Aziraphale nipped at Crowley's collarbone, kissed his way down to a nipple and bit there, immediately soothing the bite with soft sucking. "Drink your coffee, or it will get cold." He moved to the other nipple, bit under it, licked down to Crowley's navel. "Love… I neglected you most cruelly." A bite next to Crowley's love handle. "Look how skinny you are… I will feed you, and you'll be such a good, sweet boy and will eat everything, won't you?"

"Yes… yes, angel. Yes. Anything." Crowley touched Aziraphale's dandelion white hair.

Aziraphale hummed and took Crowley's cock in his hand, stroking with torturous slowness.

"I'll take you in my mouth in a jiffy, beloved," he promised nuzzling his belly. "But I wanted to tell you that there's no point in being the founding partner if I can't take some time off… I want to take care of you. You take such good care of me, my love." He hummed. "Coffee, my love. Drink your coffee and enjoy it… Savour it. I'm going to savour you." He kissed the tip of Crowley's cock, then took him whole in his mouth, moaning as he did.

Crowley's hands were shaking but he succeeded in bringing the cup to his lips and taking a small sip. Aziraphale watched him intently.

"There you go," he whispered letting Crowley's member slip out of his mouth. "Such wonderful, such beautiful darling… how come you're mine and mine alone?" He resumed slowly, softly sucking at his cock.

"You… you're staying with me today?" Crowley asked.

"Hush. I'm not very good at it if you can still talk. Don't forget your coffee, love…"

Crowley took another sip feeling the bitter burn of double espresso, just as he loved, on his tongue. Machine or no, it had to be Aziraphale's fingers pushing the buttons for his drink to be perfect. The air was pleasantly warm, they could see the London Bridge from their terrace, and the smell of apples and butter crawled into Crowley's nostrils.

"Can hear you're hungry," Aziraphale stroke the abandoned cock, looking up at Crowley. "Remember…" A long, painful suck on the sensitive flesh. "Remember that night when we got drunk and made all our neighbours listen to Mahler's Fifth, your favourite?"

"You…" Crowley laughed, his mind clear and trembling with love, while his husband sucked on him again, biting slightly. "You fucked me here… I… I burnt my back on the wood and you spent hours kissing me there…"

"I remember eating your arse afterwards… Did you have burns there as well?" Aziraphale asked pensively. If he wasn't sucking him off, he was stroking him, dutifully and tenderly, wonderfully painful, claiming.

"Must… must have."

"Don't forget your coffee, darling, don't forget."

"Wouldn't… dream of it."

"You come down my mouth, of course."

"Of… of course, angel."

"Tell me what you were thinking?"

"I… angel, your tongue, fuck! I was thinking… remembering us. How we built our home. Thought you didn't love me anymore… oh, fuck!" He yelled out loud as Aziraphale bit on his cock, punishing and reproaching. "I… I tried not to… but I remembered the fire…" 

He was pulled off the chair, but Aziraphale's hands caught his head before it hit the floor. 

"I destroyed them all, remember, my love? Do you remember… I know it doesn't help… I want to make love to you, here, now. Will you be good for me and wait? I'll fetch the lube and one of your wonderful blankets?"

"T-turn the oven off."

"Of course… of course. Take your robe off." Aziraphale rose to his feet. "So beautiful… I haven't put a spell on you in a while, haven't I? Oh, forgive me, sweet darling, I hoped if I do everything now, we'd spend the whole summer together… I'll be right back."

Crowley didn't dare to move. It was an unspoken agreement, the one he received many a praise for from Aziraphale, that he'd never touch himself unless allowed to. Sometimes Aziraphale would include it into the list of daily demands. However both knew that the ultimate pleasure came when they were together. 

"Such a beautiful darling, such a faithful husband… waiting for me so patiently…" Aziraphale knelt and bit Crowley's shoulder, while his finger slid up to a knuckle into his hole. "Taking me so well, so sweetly…" He added the second finger all too soon, but Crowley was molten honey in Aziraphale's hands, relaxed and obedient. Aziraphale kept biting him, breaking skin and sucking on the drops of blood, licking the wound clean.

Aziraphale was four fingers in, scissoring and prodding, looking at Crowley who had his eyes glued to Aziraphale's. "My tender, impossible sweetheart, the apple of my eye…" He slid all the way in, and Crowley moaned, all too quietly for Aziraphale's taste. "That won't do, my love, that won't do… I want you to scream."

"T-t-tell me…" 

"Tell you what, my love?.. We forgot the blanket." Aziraphale pulled out, kissing Crowley's wails of protest off of his mouth. The blanket was stretched on the floor, and Aziraphale lifted him effortlessly and placed him on the soft fabric. Crowley shut his eyes. He knew that blanket, like he knew every piece in their home -- he knitted it in the hospital, the very first thing to come out from his hands.

"I'll burn the world down for you, Crowley," Aziraphale promised angrily, sliding back inside. "I've burnt them, I avenged you… Come back to me, come back…"

***

_Two years ago_

They were having breakfast.

"Darling, I love your cooking." Aziraphale praised kissing Crowley when he brought a plate of crepes with chocolate, strawberries and whipped cream.

"I love cooking for you, angel." Crowley sat next to him and ate by way of stealing from Aziraphale's plate.

"Naughty… what should I do with you?" 

Crowley turned very serious. He put his hand on the table, looking at Aziraphale intensely. "Squeeze my hand, angel. I want it. The pressure of you…" 

Aziraphale smirked, grabbed the offered hand and crushed it in his.

"Yes, love, like that." Crowley whispered tenderly. "Like that, like that…"

"My love," Aziraphale kissed Crowley's ear. "I do have to go to work."

"How come I didn't recognize you that evening?"

"How come I didn't recognize you, my dear? Although, we were both rather… drunk in love."

Their love was interrupted by Crowley's phone that Crowley was happy to ignore but Aziraphale demanded he'd answer, and so he did.

"You're a dead man, Crowley!" Said a husky voice once Crowley answered. "You signed an NDA, you broke it, and you're dead… but you just went and fell into bed with Fell… you dumb idiot. You're dead, Crowley, you're dead." 

Crowley turned pale and sank on the floor.

"Darling? Darling, what's wrong?" Aziraphale rushed to him and held him tight.

"They've… been watching us. Said I was a dead man… angel, you're in danger. I can't allow it, I must go…" But before he could stand up, Aziraphale pulled him back and embraced him.

"My dear, the only ones in danger are those who threaten you."

"You don't understand…"

"Oh, you dare tell me I don't understand? I understand perfectly. I'll call Gabriel to arrange for bodyguards for you. As for me, no human in the City, unless they want to spend the rest of their lives like the poor they so despise, will shut up."

Crowley could barely breathe. He didn't want to die, he didn't want to die painfully, but the very thought of any harm coming the way of his lover was unbearable. For Aziraphale, he'd die a thousand times, still happy with the knowledge that the man loved him. 

They had lived together for a little more than a month, yet Crowley would never doubt Aziraphale, and he knew that Aziraphale would never doubt him.

He went to work, two very menacing bodyguards appeared at their doors soon after. Crowley really wanted just to take the garbage out, but said garbage was taken from him. Crowley didn't complain. He didn't like taking the garbage out anyway.

When the bodyguard returned, Crowley handed him a shopping list. Aziraphale laughed sweetly when Crowley told him that.

Crowley made ossobuco, lemon garlic pasta, Japanese cotton sponge cake, put the salted salmon into the fridge for the next few days… He finished cooking, found a very good book about the adventures of zoo veterinarians and spent the rest of the day on the sofa. Everything smelled of Aziraphale, and Crowley felt safe. 

Aziraphale came home at nine. He ate the meal Crowley had prepared with moans of pleasure, then Crowley sucked him off, twice. As soon as Aziraphale caught his breath, Crowley was splayed on the bed, naked, molten, obedient, soft… Aziraphale kissed and bit him everywhere, fucked him for hours, until they fell asleep in each other's arms. 

  
  



	3. Tabia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly sad and features very vengeful Aziraphale. CW: there's fire, catatonia, threats and some non-graphic violence Tell me if I missed something

_ Present day _

Crowley fell asleep cradled in Aziraphale's arms. Aziraphale was looking at him, peaceful, calm, a hint of mischief on his face, his breath even and soft on Aziraphale's skin.

It was getting hotter, so Aziraphale wished for their rolling shade. A noise touched his ears -- well, of course his clever darling had everything on timer or sun sensors or whatever. The shade rolled above them, comforting dark gray. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes. How perfect everything was! His husband on his shoulder, a lazy morning together, a full day of togetherness ahead. It was a cruel, stupid mistake to try and finish all his current projects at the cost of Crowley's fragile peace of mind… Aziraphale's fingers tightened on Crowley's shoulders possessively. He did all he could. They were all in prisons now, bankrupt, destroyed, and yet it didn't heal Crowley's fears, which of course was understandable, but no less painful. Crowley feared everything and everyone unless he was drunk or distressed.

It wasn't supposed to be like that, Aziraphale thought angrily. Crowley loved staying at home, cooking and cleaning and reading and tending to his plants… their plants… He loved browsing various shops for some delicacy they fancied or a rare bottle of wine. He loved looking, nay hunting for an accessory he considered necessary for their home, this or the previous one, it made no difference. Crowley would spend days over samples of upholstery or fabric, would drive every salesperson absolutely crazy with his meticulous demands. He'd tip and praise said salesperson at every opportunity too.

Once a month they donated a library's worth of children's books to different charities. Of course Crowley would do substantial research of the matter.

He'd hate to be called nice or kind.

Aziraphale's clutter became more organized retaining however the aesthetics of clutter. 

Crowley planned to enroll in several courses. He had been a star of a sushi making class. Aziraphale refused to go to any sushi restaurant afterwards. 

He clenched his teeth. His clever darling, his wily serpent, his dearest, his next of kin was now afraid to step out of their home, and if he did, most times he ended up lost and disoriented. Their lunches together happened once a week on a good month. Crowley hated it, hated his fears, hated being unable to storm another hidden store for some knick-knack Aziraphale might like. 

And since he hated it, he told Aziraphale to forbid him to go outside.

It wasn't the same as when Crowley gave himself to Aziraphale in bed. It was difficult for Aziraphale, but he couldn't help obliging. Yet, telling Crowley to finish a book Aziraphale liked and wanted to talk about by the end of the day felt sweet and naughty, while telling him to stay inside felt just plain wrong. Aziraphale would have done anything for him, but he didn't like the person he was becoming. Maybe that was why he worked until late at night.

Crowley stirred and raised his head. 

"Hey, angel," he greeted.

"Hello, my love."

"Thought I was dreaming… thank you." Crowley held him tighter.

"There's nothing to thank me for, sweetling. I'm happy with you. We still haven't eaten."

"Oh dear. Angel, I've been keeping you away from food. Been bad, haven't I?" Crowley smiled coyly.

"I'll punish you thoroughly, love, but only after food."

They got up. Crowley looked at Aziraphale and asked "Should I dress, angel?"

"No, love. Want you like that. I'll stay naked too."

"I won't be able to keep my hands off of you." Crowley warned.

"Well…"

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's hand and pulled him along, both of them laughing. He tied Crowley to a chair, while Crowley was giving him a lecture about knot theory.

"Love, do shut up." Aziraphale said without really meaning it and pushed a spoonful of apple crumble into Crowley's protesting mouth.

"Hmm… angel! This is delicious. Did you cook it?"

"No, my love, Gabriel brought it to me in the morning."

"I'm surprised he could manage." Crowley obediently took another spoonful. "You… eat too."

Aziraphale chuckled, leaned closer and kissing Crowley, grabbed some food with his tongue straight out of Crowley's mouth.

"Better this way."

"Oh, is it?" 

"Darling, you're tied up, do be silent and eat."

"I want to watch you eat, angel. I love watching you eat."

"Don't I know it? I'll put on a show once you've eaten." Aziraphale brought another spoonful to Crowley's mouth.

"I count on it… I'd make you a better crumble. Untie me."

Aziraphale rushed to free Crowley of the rope and kissed his wrists.

"I'm ok, angel. I asked for it… it's alright. Let's eat together."

Aziraphale sat by the table and they ate in companionable silence for a while.

Afterwards Crowley loaded the dishwasher and took the fish out of the freezer to bake it later.

"I don't know why you still have Gabriel as your PA. He's a wanker.." Crowley remarked once they settled on the sofa, naked and familiar, holding each other close.

"Well, my dear, there's a certain pleasure in having one's bully from school being one's PA, don't you think?"

"Bastard… I love you, Aziraphale."

"I love you too, dearest. Tell me, what do you want?"

"Want you like this, close and naked and mine."

"Done. Something else?"

"Let me touch you, pleasure you."

"If you want…"

Crowley slithered down between Aziraphale's thighs.

"Oh darling… my impossible, indulgent darling."

Crowley kissed Aziraphale's lips and chin, down his chest and belly to softly suck at the top of his cock. 

"Dearest…. Dearest, I wanted today to be about you."

"It is about me. I want to suck you…"

"Crowley…" Aziraphale leaned forward to kiss Crowley's shoulders. "Do you have to be so impossibly perfect and precious? Do you… I love you, Crowley, I love you so much, my dear boy." 

He shut his eyes and leaned back, concentrating on Crowley's touch. He was happy, he was, he would be, against anyone who'd dare take it away from him.

  
  


_ A year and a half ago _

Crowley proposed being tied to their bed and offered the ring on his tongue. Aziraphale didn't want to know how he managed to slip it into his mouth without Aziraphale noticing it. He tortured Crowley most tenderly that night, and he saw to it that his  _ betrothed  _ came at least twice. 

Aziraphale was mad with love, with the heavy pull of Crowley's nearness, his trust, his abandon as he gave himself to Aziraphale. Who would be able to take in so much trust? But that was a thought for Aziraphale before he spotted Crowley in a bar, black clothes, red hair, pale yellow eyes. Aziraphale that was making love to Crowley, no clothes and his hands up and tied and his legs spread open and his breath uneven, couldn't tell whether Crowley was laughing or moaning or both.

They had been together for six months. Crowley had been spoiling Aziraphale with food and wine and small but meaningful gifts. Aziraphale would mention something in the passing, and would get it the next evening. Gabriel feared Crowley more than Aziraphale himself, because Aziraphale in his benevolence would forgive small mistakes, but Crowley… he wouldn't. He'd torment Gabriel, the dirty bully he was, for days on end.

Crowley found that perfect penthouse and prepared those perfect sketches. He was spending his days watching various crafts' manuals and researching the language of flowers and colours and what not. He found a townhouse for them and had all their things moved there while Aziraphale was at work. He sold both their flats and invested the money so smartly they could buy another penthouse just for the fun of it. Crowley forbade it, standing on his knees and submitting to Aziraphale's bidding, said bidding being trying at least one oyster. 

Aziraphale loved that mixed dynamics -- he was in charge, but Crowley would drown him in lectures about marine biology, the perks of being a mollusc  _ (Really, my dear?)  _ or what Crowley was going to embroider on the numerous cushions…

That day, that fucking stupid day they agreed to have lunch together, like every other day. Aziraphale kissed Crowley and Gabriel drove him to work.

As for Crowley, he did the dishes and watched several very educational videos about embroidery. 

At around eleven he walked out of the house. He talked to his Bentley and they -- Crowley and Bentley -- had an argument about where to take Aziraphale for lunch. 

He was driving when someone called, so he answered without looking.

"You're dead, Crowley, you and Fell are both dead. We don't forgive, you know it…" Crowley threw his phone out of the window. He couldn't remember the following several hours and came to his senses standing in their living room, Aziraphale's books and their entire life going up in flames. 

Crowley couldn't breathe and couldn't move. Aziraphale wasn't there, which could only mean Aziraphale was dead, and if Aziraphale was dead, Crowley didn't have any reasons to stay alive, so he threw himself somewhere, on a wall of fire, on some obnoxious statue that made Aziraphale laugh, so Crowley made sure to buy it. 

A pair of soft and strong arms grabbed him, and he resisted at first, but soon turned numb and silent, catatonic, as they would explain to Aziraphale in the hospital.

What happened next?

Aziraphale hired the best hitmen and private investigators in the world. Aziraphale bought the better half of Scotland Yard. HBLL (Hastur, Beelzebub, Ligur, Lucifer) consulting was no more, and all four partners were bankrupt and each received a life sentence without any possibility of parole. Worse people got more lenient verdicts. He had their houses and cars burnt, and made sure they saw it. He had their building bought and donated to a few charities of Aziraphale's choice. He had their money given to said charities. He had their lawyers refusing to defend them. Aziraphale would have burnt the whole city of London, but their penthouse was there, so he didn't. 

And as for Crowley, he was in the hospital, and Aziraphale was holding his hand. Crowley remained catatonic and unresponsive. The doctors tried to persuade Aziraphale to consider giving up hope because really, Crowley wasn't going to come back. Aziraphale had them fired. A psychologist tried to talk Aziraphale into  _ being realistic _ , so Aziraphale had that psychologist lose his license. 

Gabriel tried to bring Aziraphale food, and wasn't fired on sight for being alive and healthy only because Crowley at last came back.


	4. Vacating sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly happy. CW for BDSM, explicit sexual content and Aziraphale being very BAMF indeed.

_ A year and three months ago _

Crowley stirred in his bed, slowly turning his head. The first thing he really, consciously saw was unmistakably Aziraphale's hand holding his. 

Two months into their love Crowley booked Aziraphale's manicurist for five days, morning till evening, so that she could train him. A lovely woman in her mid-fifties was exactly Aziraphale's brand of peculiar -- with wild red hair even Crowley could envy, penchant for the occult and remarkable talent for storytelling. The first of five days Crowley learned nothing about manicure and everything about each person in the neighborhood. He was short for breath with laughter. 

He learned in the end, and sometimes he'd do Aziraphale's manicure. He'd hate to steal Tracy's favourite client. 

Those memories, funny and warm, ran through Crowley's head so fast he had to move a little, to shift, probably to curse his wistful, mad mind for still seeing Aziraphale.

"Aziraphale," he muttered. 

Gabriel dropped the takeaway, but Aziraphale didn't see it. He climbed on the bed, framed Crowley's face in his hands, looking at him with a look of equally love and fury, something only Aziraphale was able to do.

"Are you… here?" Crowley asked.

"I am, my love. How are you feeling? Darling…" Aziraphale's lips wobbled slightly and that just wouldn't do. Crowley promptly discovered his arms and shoulders and hugged his husband. 

"It's… alright, angel. I thought I lost you."

"You'll never lose me," Aziraphale gingerly kissed Crowley's cheek.

Gabriel cleaned up the mess and decided he'd wait outside. 

"Take my hand," Crowley whispered.

"Of course. I won't squeeze it, though. Not now. You're…"

"Please. Want to feel you."

Aziraphale laid down next to Crowley, cuddling him, took his hand and laced their fingers together. 

"This is what you're getting now, and that's my last word," Aziraphale said with tears in his voice. "Clear?"

"Absolutely… what happened?.."

Aziraphale's hold grew tighter and fiercer.

"I should have listened to you, love, from the very beginning…"

"That's flattering, angel."

"Glad you've recovered your sense of petulant humour, dearest. I missed you so much."

"Where… where was I?"

"I'll tell you everything in order, just as you like. You were right, as I said. HBLL thought you told me everything you know. They can't contemplate love, can they?"

"Well, I did tell you everything, angel, our first night."

"You didn't. They had no right to follow you… Oh, they followed you. I figured it all out."

"Of course you did! You're so clever."

"Then how could I have been so stupid?"

"Angel, they left me alone… till… till yesterday? Was it yesterday?"

"Two months ago, my sweet. I was told you wouldn't come back to me. I had them all fired, naturally."

"Naturally," Crowley mocked. "I'm sorry I left you for so long…" he grabbed Aziraphale's shirt and nuzzled his chest. "I'm so sorry…"

"You have nothing to apologise for. You're with me now… Anyway. They spied on us. I was waiting for you, and you didn't come. I called you and called you… I had Gabriel drive to our home. He didn't find you…" Aziraphale kissed Crowley. 

"Sorry, angel…"

"Oh stop it, you idiot boy!"

"I remember driving to you when they called… I threw the phone out of the window. The next thing I remember is standing in our living room, everything… on fire." Crowley hid his face on Aziraphale's chest. "Someone pulled me out… I thought I was dying. Didn't care… thought I lost you."

"Oh my love… I pulled you out."

Crowley sat up. "Are you insane? Are you fucking insane?"

"Well, seeing as you were clutching a first edition Wilde I'm particularly fond of, I think it's fair."

"I was?"

"You were, my love."

"How come they even let you in?"

Aziraphale gave Crowley a meaningful look.

"Ah… sure."

"I donate enough to the London fire department, my dear."

"Don't I know it, angel." Crowley returned into Aziraphale's arms.

"You were surprisingly alright, apart from… not being there… anyway. You were still close to home when you got rid of your phone, and those bastards don't have enough brains to properly track you. They set our house on fire. They are all in prisons now, Crowley. Destitute, poor, wretched. I had their houses and cars burnt and made sure they saw it. Their building houses a few of our favourite charities and said charities have at their disposal all the money of HBLL. I helped the lower stuff find new jobs. The rest… well… I doubt they will be able to find any jobs in finance anywhere in the world. Can't guarantee the whole world, unfortunately, but both Europe, Canada and the States are out of the question."

Crowley looked at his angel in awe.

"I so need you to put a spell on me."

"Not now. I told you. Why are you arguing, my naughty boy?"

"Where will we live now? Our home… it's not remotely ready."

"I lived here or in the office. Now… The Ritz." Aziraphale shrugged.

"Angel, you're going to make  _ us _ destitute… I love you. I can't stand it that you spent two months without me telling you this."

"Tell me more then."

"I love you, I love you, I love you."

"More," Aziraphale messed Crowley's hair.

"Love you, my smiting angel. Love you so much, my terrifying, awesome darling."

"I love you too, my kind, nice love."

"So many four letter words, angel. You tease. When was the last time you ate?"

"Gabriel must have brought me something."

"My poor angel… I'll never forgive myself."

"There's nothing to forgive."

Gabriel had apparently heard his name because he appeared in the entrance and tried smiling.

"So good to see you in good health, Mr Crowley." He said, almost sincerely. "Mr Fell, the food is on its way." 

"It isn't, Gabriel. You're a hopeless liar." Aziraphale chided. Gabriel turned white. "Doesn't matter. I want something exquisite for us today. Do you think you could manage to bring us something from the Ritz? You know what we like…"

Gabriel nodded and moved to go, but Crowley stopped him. "I need yarn and knitting needles."

Gabriel nodded again. Mercifully, Aziraphale sent him the address of a shop and the codes  _ (codes!)  _ of the colours Crowley desired. 

  
  


_ Present day _

"This… is a proper honeymoon," Crowley breathed out and laughed. He was sitting in Aziraphale's lap sideways, wearing only his thin silver scarf, face in the crook of Aziraphale's neck, as Aziraphale kept slowly stroking his oversensitive cock. He lost the count of his orgasms, and Aziraphale hadn't stopped even for a moment. The pleasure-pain of it, the joy he felt seeing Aziraphale's unwavering readiness to bring Crowley more and more pleasure, the whole day spent like that, in love and with love, all of it was overwhelming. Crowley could hardly breathe, couldn't feel any part of his body that wasn't in direct contact with any part of Aziraphale's still clothed one, and couldn't remember being that joyous, that drunk on the easiness of their connection.

"You didn't want one, my love… should I stop?"

"No, no, never stop. More. Until it breaks. Do you want to stop?"

"No, my dear boy, not when you make such noises and hold on to me and breathe so wetly. You're miraculous. Do you think I should fuck you properly?"

"P-put a spell on me."

"Oh, of course. It doesn't answer my question, though."

"Yes, angel. Yes, I'd love it if you fucked me."

Aziraphale stood up lifting Crowley with him effortlessly. 

He carried him into the bedroom, wiped his sweat with a warm cloth and began undressing. Crowley was waiting patiently.

"I want you to open yourself for me. Don't move! I'll give you the lube."

Aziraphale, having handed Crowley the bottle, sat between Crowley's legs.

"You may start, dearest… Would you want me to take your breath away too?" Aziraphale leaned forward and grabbed Crowley's scarf pulling it to himself and so tightening the loop around his neck.

Crowley, being hard at work and in general, whined. Aziraphale let go.

"Put your hand back where it was, you fucking beautiful bastard."

"If you insist. Safe… sign?"

"Don't want one. You know how much I can take."

Aziraphale's breath hitched. It fell on him again, that tremendous trust, so much faith in him and no fear. 

"I want one. Clear?"

"I'll pinch your right shoulder."

"Who said you'll be able to use your hands?"

"Aziraphale, I fucking love you so much. I'll shake my head. Alright?"

"Perfect, my love. You're stretching so well for me, so very well…" Aziraphale fetched the rope and stopped by the edge of the bed where Crowley's unoccupied hand was waiting for him.

"Please don't talk about knot theory, Crowley, or I'll gag you."

"Ew, I don't like gagging."

"And I have no interest in knot theory."

"Pity… mmmmmmphfff…" Crowley was interrupted by Aziraphale stopping his mouth with a very thorough kiss. 

"I love you, my darling." He tied his wrist to one of the bed posts. "Are you ready for me?"

"Always."

"That's my boy." 

  
  


"A few days ago," Crowley began, having caught his breath and his bruised wrists tended to by Aziraphale. "When we made love on the terrace. You told me to come back to you. What did you mean?"

"I meant I want my mischievous fearless darling back, but don't get me wrong, dearest, I love you more each day, and I'm sorry I was running away from you. In all honesty, you should be telling me to come back."

"I did."

"You did."

"I don't like it any more than you do, angel. Just promise me…"

"I'll never leave you. I'll never work late again. I'm getting old, love, I should let go. Anathema is awesome enough, and she doesn't have a Crowley to take care of."

"Stop it, angel. I don't need a nurse."

"You don't. But you need me. Don't you?" Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's hair and pulled his head up to face him.

"Of course I need you, you silly angel. I'm not the one spending all his time in the office… I got you to admit it. You're avoiding me."

"I'm not… I mean… I think you're right. But! And you have to listen! There's no place in the world I want to be, apart from here, in our home, with you. You built me a world, Crowley. You literally built it. We're lying in the bed of your making, our bed linens are sewn by you, as well as the curtains… all of this is you… When you were in the hospital, when I was burning their houses, when I was wiping them off of the face of the Earth, I thought I'd burn… it all. But I remembered we had home, that you were building me a home. Something… ineffable, my love. Nothing compares to this place. It's big, but cozy, modern, but old-fashioned… Darling, I mean it. I wouldn't leave it myself. Sweetheart, we have more than enough money…"

"You love your work. You love getting to know new things. Angel, you're still doing some of the audits yourself. Even Anathema doesn't."

"Anathema sees auras through the documents. I'm not as lucky. Or much of a believer, honestly."

"She's nuts. I love her." Crowley scooted closer. 

"Thought you loved me, my dear."

"That's not just plain old  _ love _ , angel. That's my breath, my blood, my flesh, everything I am. You're in everything I do."

"Darling, what have I ever done to deserve you?"

"Didn't have to do a thing, angel. Just… be."

  
  


When Crowley fell asleep, Aziraphale got up and walked around their home.

Their home.

All his power and influence was in the end just to achieve that. It could have been anywhere, but his wily serpent chose this place and turned it into paradise. Aziraphale didn't need to lift a finger here, while each inch of it was carefully planned and built by Crowley. 

He stopped in front of the shielded fireplace. Didn't they… no, didn't Crowley deserve to sit by the fireplace he himself had made, stretch his endless legs, rest? Didn't he, Aziraphale, the man of immense power gained just by being very good at his job and being kind to those who needed kindness, deserve to share this ancient pleasure of sitting by the fire with his kin? That marvelous building which used to belong to HBLL now belonged to a few LGBTQA+ charities plus a few organizations helping rape and domestic abuse survivors of all ages, was a witness to the goodness of his heart… His heart belonged to a lanky ginger man who was sound asleep, who used to work for the worst people in business, who refused to harm anyone, who was afraid of going out.

Sometimes Crowley would push the alarm button just to make sure that someone would indeed come. Aziraphale had to buy the company so that they wouldn't dare to ignore Crowley's call. 

Aziraphale had suggested bodyguards round the clock, but Crowley wasn't ready to share his happiness, his home with anyone. He wanted to walk carelessly, like he used to, like most people did. 

And so he sat at home, made minuscule adjustments, ordered the best produce in town and on one occasion a sheep which he milked, caressed, talked to and handed back to a very confused farmer. Crowley was in charge of their finances, investing cleverly, striving, no, succeeding in learning to make everything by himself. There was a room just for his craft, where Aziraphale loved to sit on weekends watching Crowley make more chairs, although they never had any guests, changing the upholstery of sofas once a month, making cups and plates and whatnot and painting them, embroidering cushions and duvets and table clothes. There was a loom there too, and an antique sewing machine. There was a huge closet with supplies sorted by theme, colour and probably something else. There were bookshelves with all kinds of books, both modern and old. Here his demiurge was at work. From here came the voice, the power of a restless creator. Aziraphale used to enjoy Crowley's look of angry confusion when Aziraphale mentioned that they had a vegetable and herbs garden on their terrace. In winter Crowley would construct a greenhouse around them… His plants, whatever they were, brought fruit all year round, unless they wanted to face Crowley's wrath. Crowley could be pretty terrifying on his own, but only when plants were involved. 

Aziraphale brushed the screen by the fireplace and returned to Crowley. He turned in his sleep, muttered  _ angel  _ and wrapped himself around his husband.

"Love you… don't go away."

Aziraphale clenched his teeth to avoid sobbing into the dark. 


	5. Zwischenschach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: morbid humour, a lot of karma porn. I too am yet to meet a therapist who wouldn't judge me. I'm sure they exist though

_ A year and five months ago _

One night, some eons ago, before Aziraphale spent his time sitting by his husband's hospital bed, Crowley told him, out of nowhere, in the middle of a bloody supermarket out of all places "I just invented love."

It was very rare that they did shopping together but sometimes on weekends they would. Aziraphale enjoyed it embarrassingly much. Apparently so did Crowley. He was putting something into the trolley that Aziraphale was pushing, and he eyed wearily the ice cream section, and he was younger than spring and fragile as autumn, and Aziraphale loved him. It didn't feel like some cosmic passion that burns everything on its way, but it was calm, and that calmness felt heavy and huge and absolutely essential. It made Aziraphale sense every part of his body.

So if it was so right and calm, how could he have lost it? How was it possible that Crowley was but a soulless body if he invented love? Aziraphale didn't ever think to question that statement. It was true. Actually, it felt unnatural to never have thought it before.

"Come back to me, please, come back to me…"

_ A year ago _

The first therapist told Crowley that his sexual life was to blame for his experience. 

"You gave up all your control to another person. Of course nothing makes sense now…" She shrugged.

She woke up the next day to find her reputation in ruin and a hundred or so books on PTSD and BDSM by her door. 

The second therapist said it was all natural, but in fact not true. He was speaking of Crowley's fears, thankfully, and not about his sex life, which Crowley carefully refused to discuss.

"It's just in your head." The second therapist said benevolently. "The world didn't end. You lived through a traumatic event, but fires are not that rare, and you escaped death most miraculously!"

"So, you're going Hamlet on me?" Crowley clarified.

"Hamlet?"

"Yeah. He said something about good and evil being just points of view."

"Well. You could put it like that. But it is just your personal experience, and valid as it is, it's still not decisive, even in your life."

"You can't avoid different points of view even in maths." Crowley said.

"You're wrong." The therapist replied.

"I'm not. Consult your Gödel." Crowley recommended and fired the second therapist. Aziraphale had his office burnt at night.

The third therapist asked Crowley about his parents.

"Mom died, dad didn't know how to hug, boarding school, university. He has Alzheimer's. Doesn't recognize me anymore, if he ever did." Crowley answered.

"Oh, so being left by your parents, you found that grounding presence in your lover." The third therapist smiled smugly.

"My husband. I wasn't left. My dad isn't a bad person, he just doesn't know how to express his love. I had been loved. Didn't feel any rejection."

"I assume you liked torturing animals?" The third therapist assumed.

"No, I love animals."

"You said your partner…"

"Husband."

"Your partner…

"Husband. Aziraphale Fell. I'm Crowley-Fell, it says so in your file."

"Aziraphale Fell. A very controlling man, who has you do all the chores while he plays Monopoly with people's lives. You think it's healthy?"

"I think you're a… very misjudging person, to be honest." Crowley got up.

Inexplicably the third therapist lost all his patients and didn't get any new ones. His lecture in Oxford was canceled. Unbeknownst to him, one very controlling Mr Fell was raging in the Royal suit of the Ritz while his very meek husband, one Mr Crowley-Fell tried to persuade him not to have the third therapist killed. The third therapist would never know it, but Crowley asked Aziraphale not to kill the third therapist's dog either. Out of options, Aziraphale fell asleep crying because he was a very controlling man playing Monopoly with people's lives, obviously not because he hated the thought of his  _ husband  _ being dismissed like that. When Crowley couldn't leave the Ritz to go to Aziraphale, he called him and demanded the third therapist's head on the silver platter. He called again after five minutes and said he had meant it metaphorically. The third therapist turned out to have a very poor record with female patients and went to prison for sexual harassment. Aziraphale made sure it was for life. Aziraphale and Crowley had an argument about metaphors but it was playful and lovely.

The fourth therapist was Dr Hannibal Lecter. Aziraphale came home, that is to the Ritz, one night to find his husband drinking Moët from the bottle and munching on jamon Serrano. On the TV screen in front of him Dr Lecter was showing off his cooking skills.

"This one," Crowley pointed lazily, "is the best therapist I've met. There's some sick manipulation here and there and well, he eats people, but he doesn't judge anyone. Doesn't hurt that he's a handsome Dane. Admittedly I spend much time covering my eyes, but other than that, wicked. Can we hire him? He won't eat me."

"I'd love to see him try."

"Love you angel. Want some jamon?"

The fifth therapist wasn't a therapist. It was Anathema Device, Aziraphale's heir apparent who claimed to read people's auras. She read Crowley's, said he was very much in love and in a lot of pain. Somehow having these things said out loud by a third party proved to be more helpful than anything else. Besides, she didn't judge either of them. 

Anathema Device once promised certain death to a business partner. He laughed and said that women were too emotional. He died a month later in his bed, and his last words were "Anathema Device". His wife wrote Anathema a grateful letter. They were married now.

Crowley refused any therapists after that. He didn't have it all under control, he didn't, but he didn't want to be vulnerable in front of another judgemental arse. He accepted there were good therapists. He wasn't ready to share a thing.

Aziraphale kept thinking how excruciatingly ironic it all was. Yes, he got to tie Crowley to bed and to bite him and to take his pleasure, but if there was anyone in the whole damn world who he'd bow to, it was his husband. Aziraphale was in charge, but all around him seemed to bear Crowley's signature. His playful love built him a world and gave it to him without a second thought. Aziraphale was in charge, but the charge was Crowley's. It wasn't rocket science, really.


	6. Queen's knight

_Present day_

He bit his lips bloody. He called several chiefs Aziraphale admired. He consulted and considered. He had a matchbox next to his hand on the kitchen counter.

He lit one match. Lit another. It seemed alright, so far. He lit a candle. 

After a few minutes he had to take it to the bathroom, so that it smelled of cinnamon and sugar. 

He called Aziraphale's masseuse. Called Tracy to talk him through the ordeal of the evening. She was reassuring him as he washed the trout and covered it in salt. 

There was some salmon he had smoked and he made a salad too. He ordered oysters from the Ritz as a backup plan. He was ready. He could do it. He had to do it.

Aziraphale walked into the flat. 

"Hello, darling, smells delicious. What have you cooked to spoil me tonight?"

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's hand and pulled him into a kiss.

"You alright, darling?"

"Go sit on the terrace, angel."

"I will. But are you alright?"

"I am, I am! Go and take a seat."

Aziraphale obliged. Crowley had set everything perfectly, candles and plates and cutlery, a good Chardonnay chilling, some canapes with caviar for Aziraphale… perfect. He did perfectly. Aziraphale didn't ask about the candles, thankfully. 

Crowley rolled out the trout and set it on fire before Aziraphale's eyes. It was tolerable, seeing Aziraphale like that, flames dancing on his cheeks, the worry in his eyes.

"Don't worry, angel. I know what I'm doing. Trust me."

"I trust you with my life, darling boy. I want you to be comfortable."

"Shut up." Crowley put the fire down and tapped on the salty armour of the fish with a spoon. "Your plate!" He demanded. 

They ate together, in not so comfortable silence. The candles burnt, and there was a candle in the bathroom.

"To get the desert you'll need to put that gorgeous arse of yours into the bath," Crowley said with a forced smile. 

"Darling, you don't have to…"

"Shut it! Let me do this. Let me give you a sickeningly romantic evening with candles and shit!"

Aziraphale didn't argue.

"I want to make very tender love to you afterwards," he asked.

"Whatever you want, angel."

They sat in the bath with tiramisu. Crowley fed Aziraphale both portions. The candle cast heavy light on their skin, and yet heavier smell over the room. 

"Darling…"

"No, angel. I… I'm trying."

So Aziraphale let Crowley try, and did make tender love to him afterwards. 

There was, Aziraphale thought, some distant kingdom which sent Crowley over to him, that unassuming, clever princeling. Aziraphale had to protect him and he failed. 

He didn't know what to do, looking at Crowley's face, all forced nonchalance and devil-may-care attitude. Aziraphale didn't know what to do, didn't know what was right. He'd blow the candles and throw the damned trout into the garbage, he'd take Crowley's head into his hands and tell him that nothing compared to just having Crowley next to him, close to him, naked, trusting, calm… Would he ever get to see Crowley calm again? Would they ever get to have dinner by the fire?

The screen was moved away from the fireplace, and there was some wood inside. Crowley left drowsing Aziraphale in bed and moved to the soon-to-be fire.

"I can do it… it's warm. It's safe. I can put it down. I can." Crowley lit a match and dropped it into the fireplace. The shreds of paper and dry wood caught the flame, welcomed it. 

"Not the same. Not the same. Aziraphale is in the bed. He made me sore. He's tired, tired with love. He's safe… he's safe. He's safe. He promised me…"

Aziraphale's hands wrapped around him from behind. "What is it, darling? This show of strength… I never doubted you, my love."

"I want us to sit by the fire. It's the oldest, the most primal tradition, angel, to sit by the fire. I won't be denied it. No one can deny me the pleasure of sharing with you the warmth and security of this fire…" Crowley shut his eyes. 

Aziraphale didn't dare argue. He held Crowley closer, tried imagining the moment as he had been doing it… 

The faults turned out to be crucial for perfection. Yes, he had been imagining this moment, but having Crowley with him now, Crowley who was afraid of fire, to put it mildly, sitting with Aziraphale and trying to look at the flames without terror, that was worth a thousand of imagined moments. 

"Fire or not, I love you." Aziraphale whispered. "I'd be happy with you in an empty universe. I'd be happy with you in a gutter. Wouldn't want this tested, of course, but I need you, even if everything else is perfect… Until there's you, nothing is perfect."

And he wanted to ask Crowley to marry him again. He wanted to have dropped everything the evening they met. He wanted to have bought them an island the evening they met. He wanted to have gambled with any higher force for a lifetime of peace with Crowley. 

In the end he was defeated by a petty arson, and so was Crowley.

_A year and seven months ago_

They arrived at the office long before their hour. It was just them, Crowley insisted it had to be so. Aziraphale didn't want to argue. 

They were married by ten in the morning. 

"I know it's casual, but so are the most of our happiest days, angel," Crowley promised. "I'm not going to celebrate you once a year. I'm going to celebrate you every bloody moment."

They had lunch in a very ordinary cafe. They went for a walk, and Aziraphale was thirsty, so Crowley bought him a bottle of water. Aziraphale had been keeping it since that day.

"Do you like being bored next to me?" Crowley asked one night when Aziraphale couldn't fall asleep. "I really like being bored next to you. It's never really boring. It's wonderful."

Aziraphale had never thought about love that way, but Crowley was right. 

Crowley would walk into the bathroom in the morning while Aziraphale was reading his newspaper on the loo, and would kiss him and ask him how he had slept…

When Aziraphale had some sort of furuncle, Crowley examined it before any doctor. "In sickness and health, remember?" He'd say, so inappropriately seductive. "Want to know all of you. How you shit and pee and everything."

It took some time for Aziraphale but he got used to that sometimes gross closeness.

"You eat my arse, angel, ffs!"

"Darling, I'm sure you're supposed to say the words out loud."

"For fuck's sake, angel, you eat my arse. You're the first to do it. It's the knowledge worth eating any forbidden truth, and as things stand, pooping is still something no one ever talks about. A pity, really." 

He was gross, he was crass and Aziraphale loved him. There was something to their love that made everything meaningful and romantic. After all, the ultimate knowledge proved to be more romantic than any roses or candles or gifts. Being close, really close meant telling Crowley about his day while Crowley was douching. It meant Crowley telling him about different options for lunch or dinner while Aziraphale was showering. 

Mundanity translated into their language meant love and acceptance. 

Why did fire have to be so crucial?

Solely because Aziraphale knew they deserved what shepherds had thousands of years ago?

Yes, yes, this. Something primal and simple and true… Aziraphale wanted it, and he'd do anything to do it with Crowley. 

_A year ago_

Aziraphale would drive him to their home, and Crowley would stay there and build said home against all odds. Crowley would _create_ in any case, any conditions. Crowley would fight anything for Aziraphale, including his own trauma, so Aziraphale felt guilty, for he let Crowley do everything alone. He allowed Crowley to face everything alone. 

Was it about… what was it about? Aziraphale didn't know, and frankly didn't want to know. Crowley wanted to make a world for both of them, and Aziraphale considered it his duty to let Crowley do anything.


	7. Queening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self care porn, self-indulgent to the point of being embarrassing.

Crowley woke up to the cool and grayish darkness of their bedroom. The bed was warm and the air, fresh and the curtains, closed. A letter lay on Aziraphale's pillow, a daily list of everything Aziraphale wanted Crowley to do. Crowley took the letter, rubbing at his eyes. He sat up and lit a lamp above his head. 

_ My love, good morning.  _

_ I want you today to feel every good thing about each minute you'll spend without me. I'll guide you through the first few steps and will give you some tips. _

_ When you get up, feel the floor under your beautiful feet. It's the floor you made, my heart.  _

_ Before that, as you're reading this, feel the softness and comfort of the sheets you made. _

_ I know how difficult it is for you, but try to savour your coffee and your breakfast. _

_ Walk around our flat. Look at everything. It's all you, it's all your love. I wish I could breathe mine into the air, so that I could ask you to spend the day naked, feeling me all around you. _

_ I wish I could make a world for you to make it better, to make my creation into a poem. Alas, I'm no creator. You, on the other hand, you built a world for us, a home, a refuge. Do you know that you are my everything? Do you know that when I wake up and stretch, I think, 'oh my, this is Crowley, all around me'. How about you make something for my office? It can be obscene, my naughty boy, my wily serpent. It can be just miraculous, although everything you do is… _

_ Walk out on our terrace, rejoice in your plants. Yell at them, if you want. But you made them the way they are in the middle of London. You, dearest, you made it so.  _

_ Look at the London Bridge. Look at everything while you're still wearing the robe I gave you a week ago. Look! You're the master of everything, you're your own limit, and if there is one, then it's there for the benefit of everyone else, not for you.  _

_ I want you to benefit from everything.  _

_ We're so privileged, my love, so lucky. Rejoice in it. Drink your first glass of wine at ten in the morning. Have the Ritz deliver you oysters. Make that wicked roast beef you did the other day. _

_ I love you. I breathe you. You're my everything. Life itself.  _

_ Wait for me. _

_ Yours,  _

_ husband. _

Crowley brought the letter to his lips to kiss it. He laughed happily and he got up… a pause, his feet on the floor, the air around his shoulders, then the robe around his body. 

He wanted a shower.

The water was Aziraphale, and the season was spring. Crowley felt happy with how warm it was, the glorious May, the king of the year, with his loyal April by his side.

Crowley made himself beans on toast and poured himself a generous glass of wine. He looked out from the terrace. The morning was warm and the sun was kind. The air brought in the smells of burnt oil, of cars, of the river, the screeching and beeping of the traffic and radio four was static. He turned on the TV, a nature documentary, David Attenborough of course, plus some late Leonard Cohen on the side. 

Eleven was the crucial hour. At eleven he always grew restless, but not today. Today he went into his workshop and made Aziraphale a wooden cock. He felt like Michelangelo. 

He made them lunch, and Aziraphale came home to eat with him. They ate and talked about nothing. Crowley presented his husband with a wooden cock. Aziraphale laughed before dropping to his knees and sucking  _ his beautiful, naughty boy  _ off. 

Aziraphale returned to the City, and Crowley cooked them dinner, or rather he put the pot with chicken, lemon, assorted vegetables, rice and a lot of coconut cream and spices, into the oven. There was still plenty of time until the evening, so Crowley, as per Aziraphale's letter, decided to pamper himself with a slow and pleasant shave. He concentrated on his movements and the feel of cream and razor on his skin; he thought about how Aziraphale would shave him, how careful he would be, how tender, how strong… Crowley felt so much in love, he needed Ella Fitzgerald. 

It was about seven. He poured himself some scotch and took out a book about horseshoe crabs and velvet worms. ( _ My curious darling, my boy of such wonderfully peculiar interests… - Angel, horseshoe crabs are amazing! Did you know..? - I can't wait to learn.) _

It happened then, something shifted, after a year and some of mad studying of every possible craft, of avoiding fire and collapsing at the sight of it, of torturously forcing himself to tolerate it - something changed. He read greedily and inspiredly. The book ended too soon and Crowley scanned their shelves for something more… He  _ needed  _ to go to Nature History Museum,  _ right then _ , yet the urge quickly melted into something softer, transformed into something reassuring and calm. He'd ask Aziraphale to stay with him the following day, so they would go together, and then they would go and find more books. Crowley felt himself, for the first time since the fire. He was as damningly curious as he used to be, and this curiosity was pure now. He didn't need its driving force for building them a home, but it had that lovely hue to it in that it was sharpened for Aziraphale. Crowley was curious because then he could tell Aziraphale about things and share his own wonder with Aziraphale. 

Crowley thought suddenly that even if he'd never walk outside calmly, if he'd never sit with Aziraphale by the fire, he'd still retain this eternally active, bubbling  _ joy of finding things out.  _

Who was anyone to deny him the vast spaces in his head? He knew how to build furniture, grow trees and flowers, cook, fix things, however still more important was how his quizzical nature kept extending, how the whole growing universe fit snuggly in the nutshell of his head. He had freedom and love, he was rich. He wasn't prince Hamlet, and never meant to be, thank you very much, he was someone much better. He was a fool, a Feste. He was bloody happy. 

Crowley grabbed a book about the physiology of tortoises and another, about whales and returned to the bedroom. He dressed up, picking up the softest, the most comfortable clothes and was just finishing up when he heard Aziraphale open the door. Crowley looked at himself in the mirror, then turned his head to see Aziraphale entering the room, tired, with eyes softly glowing with love. 

"Ask me something, angel. Anything you want to know."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for coming. Kudos and comments are the stuff of life.


End file.
